


Three times submission is easy (and the one time it is not)

by schreibzumlesen



Series: rattle your chains if you love being free [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Dom/sub, Humor, Light BDSM, M/M, Punishment, Spanking, Sub!Jaskier, dom!Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schreibzumlesen/pseuds/schreibzumlesen
Summary: He deserves the world and so much more that Geralt cannot give him, but damn it if he won’t try.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: rattle your chains if you love being free [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622392
Comments: 36
Kudos: 520





	Three times submission is easy (and the one time it is not)

** i. **

Sunlight gently warms the scattered flowers along their way, awakens the stretching trees and lifts the spirits of the birds between their branches. It’s a mild summer day, the first of many more to follow, and even Geralt admits that after a long and dreary winter the world seems slightly kinder.

Jaskier is walking next to him, idly playing his lute and humming an unfamiliar tune. His persistent presence only adds to the light atmosphere, not that Geralt would ever tell him that. He has long accepted that the bard will not leave him any time soon and he doesn’t necessarily oppose that particular decision; after all, company _does_ have its advantages.

“Ahh, can you feel that? A new season is ahead of us, with fresh energy and strength and love!” Jaskier exclaims and deeply inhales the sweet summer air. “Can you sense the love, Geralt? Because I can.”

“Of course you can.”

Even though Jaskier shakes his head at his teasing, Geralt hears the smile in his voice. “Don’t make fun of me for appreciating the small things in life. You really ought to be more grateful.”

Vaguely amused, Geralt raises one of his eyebrows. “Grateful for what?”

Jaskier slows his walking and nods towards the trees on the side of the road. “If you’re nice I could show you…”

“Hm.” Geralt knows what Jaskier is implying but occasionally he takes pleasure in denying Jaskier the things that he wants. It keeps their little game interesting and their shared time meaningful. In a way, Geralt is almost sure that Jaskier not only wants but also… needs his guidance, and that he revels in the fact that Geralt can take control so easily.

Nevertheless, he accepts Jaskier’s suggestion, dismounts and leads Roach into the quiet woods. Jaskier follows them without Geralt telling him to do so. When they stop, Jaskier carefully places his lute on some moss and manages to take off his doublet and shirt before Geralt has finished tying Roach to a nearby tree.

“A quite intelligent decision, even coming from you, Geralt. And here I was, thinking you’re all muscles and… well, maybe a bit brains.”

In a different situation, Geralt would quieten him with a harsh kiss or take him over his knee and redden Jaskier’s ass to shut him up, but now another idea comes to his mind. It’s nothing Jaskier isn’t used to, and Geralt stores the thought away in his memory. Later, not now.

First, he’s going to take what he wants, and they’re going to have some fun. Jaskier will regret his words soon enough.

It doesn’t take long for them to part again, hot and satisfied, with sweat darkening Jaskier’s hair and a bite-mark decorating his ass that wasn’t there before. While Geralt has fucked him none too gently against a tree, Jaskier still hasn’t lost his mischief or his arousal and Geralt is almost impressed by his dedication. He gives Jaskier’s once again half-hard cock a last gentle stroke, then steps back to adjust his clothing.

As anticipated, Jaskier has something to say about that.

“Don’t- Geralt, don’t leave me like this! I deserve some peace and pleasure!”

“You already got your pleasure,” Geralt reminds him.

Jaskier huffs at that and gestures towards his cock. “Yes, and I firmly believe one can never have enough of that certain happiness. Please?”

The polite ask is a surprise in itself but Geralt has already set his mind. This time, Jaskier deserves some kind of correction, if not for his mockery, then just for the pure sake of it. Geralt won’t harm him, they both know that.

“Give me your clothes,” Geralt says.

“Ah yes, good thinking. And I do want to point out that we can do this all day.”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s bright bundle of clothing. “We won’t. Try to keep up, you can keep your shoes.”

Jaskier stares at him and if Geralt reads his facial expressions correctly, he slowly realizes what Geralt expects. “No… no, no, no. You don’t mean that. Oh gods, Geralt, I hate you. At least let me take care of-” He doesn’t finish his sentence as Geralt firmly slaps his ass.

“Leave it. Come now, don’t stay behind.” He unties Roach and leads her back to the road, Jaskier a few steps behind him, his naked form a stark contrast to Geralt’s heavy armour. At his sight, completely unprotected and vulnerable in the bright daylight, but his chin raised defiantly, Geralt feels a flash of pride. Jaskier doesn’t try to cover himself, silently accepts his order, and when they settle into a slow pace, his cock is still standing proudly and he looks up at Geralt with a small grin.

“You won’t be able to resist my charm and other virtues for long, mark my words. This might be harder for you than for me. Pun absolutely intended.” He laughs.

And despite his initial plan, Geralt has to agree.

** ii. **

Witcher. Wolf. Monster, Butcher, murderer – Geralt has heard them all before. The way people describe him reeks of fear and caution but Jaskier turns the words into speeches of love and admiration and he changes all of the descriptions to terms of bravery.

Nothing, though, can ever compare to how he whispers Geralt’s name in private, respect and devotion colouring his enunciation when he promises himself away to him. He doesn’t use any of Geralt’s given names, choses to call him ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’ instead, and Geralt knows that this isn’t just Jaskier being dramatic.

Language and music are two of Jaskier’s greatest passions.

He shares them with Geralt so willingly that it takes some time for him to feel worthy.

** iii. **

The collar brings plenty of welcome elements with it.

For one, there’s Jaskier’s obvious excitement that he tries to keep quiet as if Geralt can’t see his blown pupils and the way he shifts on his knees when Geralt fastens the clasp around his neck. He’s still his usual chattering self but there seem to be emotions beneath his words that he tries to hide from Geralt, and Geralt doesn’t like that Jaskier might feel ashamed about his desires or the things he lets Geralt do to him.

He also knows that Jaskier experimented with pain and humiliation before, with different people in different times. Jaskier is more experienced than Geralt in this field, needless to say, and yet his suggestions and requests always have a poorly hidden careful tone to it.

Perhaps he thinks that Geralt will leave him if he wants too much. Geralt won’t.

Additionally, Jaskier’s usually undisciplined behaviour changes significantly when he wears the collar. While he typically prefers to ignore Geralt’s warnings and decides things on his own, the collar brings out his submissive side and it never takes longs to fulfil its purpose as a reminder of their roles, with Jaskier visibly losing the tension in his shoulders and sinking a bit further into that unfocused headspace that causes him to be truthful and open and exposed.

“You’re beautiful like that,” Geralt murmurs and pets Jaskier’s hair oh so carefully. He is, he always is.

Jaskier’s smile is shaky as he leans his head against Geralt’s thigh and his trust overshadows his fear of loss so far that Geralt feels a deep ache of affection in his chest.

“I know.”

“Good.”

He deserves the world and so much more that Geralt cannot give him, but damn it if he won’t try.

* * *

**  
**

** i. **

The inevitable happens, and despite Geralt carrying the possibility with him like a heavy weight that sometimes takes up too many of his thoughts, he doesn’t expect the blunt pain that pierces his heart at seeing Jaskier hurt.

It will be fine, Geralt registers on the side, his mind too busy with imagining worse, it won’t kill Jaskier, hasn’t hit any important body parts, he will be fine, Jaskier will be alright. Nevertheless, Jaskier’s shocked and frightened expression matches Geralt’s own and Jaskier’s fingers curl around his shoulder, where moments ago the sharp nails of a drowner sliced through silk and skin.

The drowner itself is dead now, killed by Geralt in a fast and cruel motion.

“I told you to stay in town,” Geralt growls and is by Jaskier’s side in two quick strides and examines the wound; he was right, there’s blood, but not as much as the images in his head try to make him believe. The cut needs to be cleaned and bandaged but that will be the worst of it. It will be okay. It will all be fucking fine.

“Shit,” Jaskier says softly. “Sorry for being stupid.”

The atmosphere is clear again and who knew that there can be so much trouble, so much _fragility_ in one human mortal body.

“Why can’t you just listen?” Geralt demands to know, his senses full of Jaskier’s blood and worry. He doesn’t receive an answer but Jaskier’s silence tells him more than any words ever could.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says again, when they’re back in their room at the inn, both clean from a bath and both of their cuts and bruises taken care of. He’s only wearing his smallclothes and sits on the edge of their bed, his skin pale and the white cloth wrapped around his shoulder even paler. “I really am. I should have listened.”

“Hm.” Geralt doesn’t get up from where he hunches by the fireplace, dressed only in his trousers and shirt, and where he stares into the flames so that he doesn’t have to see the mark of his failure on Jaskier’s body. All of a sudden, he hates that he was trained for killing, not for protecting cheerful but disobedient bards, who steal bits and pieces of Geralt’s food and drink and soul.

“Geralt.” Hesitant footsteps make their way over to him and then Geralt feels Jaskier standing in front of him and hears the anxious and fast rhythm of his heart.

He looks up and there he is indeed, a small smile that doesn’t reach Jaskier’s eyes tugging on his lips as he holds out a belt to Geralt.

“I- Punish me.”

Right away, Geralt wants to say no. He wants to wrap his arms around that thoughtless bard of his and not let go of him for the rest of the night. He wants to forget the previous hours.

But Jaskier looks at him very seriously and now he’s not smiling anymore and Geralt sees the need in his eyes, and his desperate wish for forgiveness.

This… isn’t a game anymore, he realizes. They have changed and adapted their rules instinctively, and he won’t betray Jaskier’s trust now. He can’t.

So he takes the belt and lets it fall to the floor.

“I’ll use my hand,” he says.

Jaskier nods. “Thank you.” The tiny smile is back. “I guess?”

Geralt takes one of Jaskier’s wrists and tugs him towards the bed, where he sits down and pulls at the strings of Jaskier’s smallclothes. Without needing an order Jaskier takes them down, steps out of them and then drapes himself unceremoniously over Geralt’s lap. He’s been in this position before but they are both aware of the difference.

Geralt steadies him with a hand on the small of his back and Jaskier makes a nervous noise in his throat. His heartbeat, however, has slowed down.

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” There is no use in lying to him.

“Fuck.” Joylessly, Jaskier laughs and takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.” Most likely he isn’t but Geralt begins his punishment anyway, since stalling won’t benefit any of them.

As expected, Jaskier yelps and howls and cries his way through the harsh slaps that turn his ass and thighs a deep scarlet, he tries to reach back to cover his burning skin, and he kicks his feet, he always does, but this time there is no playful begging for mercy and this time he doesn’t ask to be let up so that he can kiss Geralt or suck his cock.

Eventually, Jaskier lies still, whimpers having turned into sobs, and he lets Geralt do what he thinks is right. This is a new form of trust, right here, laid bare before Geralt’s strength and power, and Geralt stops, how can he continue? Jaskier gives him so much of himself, and Geralt cannot lose him.

He delivers one last hard slap that causes Jaskier to moan brokenly and then Geralt gathers him up in his arms and leans back against the headboard of the bed, Jaskier, who holds onto Geralt as if he is his bastion of calm in a sea of pain and personal collapse, on top of him.

It takes a while until he stops crying, with Geralt rubbing his back and murmuring kind words, which he knows Jaskier doesn’t fully realise yet.

He took Jaskier apart, he will make him feel whole again.

“Ow,” Jaskier finally mumbles and looks up at Geralt with red eyes and tear streaks on his cheeks. “Oh, ow. I will never be able to sit down properly again.”

“Hmm.” Geralt cups his face in one hand and tenderly kisses the light traces that Jaskier’s tears have left behind. This is how their life is now. They have both found their parts. “You’ll be alright.”

“I know.” Exhausted, Jaskier lets his head sink down on Geralt’s chest again and his eyelids flutter and close.

He’s sore but warm and alive, and he will be alright.

Geralt will always make sure of that.

**Author's Note:**

> This is so much more angsty than the first part... Sorry. :D   
> Leave a comment if you want to read more!


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